My Crazy, Beautiful Life
by Aureus Lux
Summary: Ari "Phoenix" Beckman was on an undercover case for the ILSB when she got arrested... in Russia. A SHIELD agent rescues her, and what happens when she's asked to join the Avengers? After such a rocky life, she can't help but be apprehensive. Will they like her? What about her old agency, and her old friends? Will her life start going uphill? Or will her downward spiral never end?
1. A New Beginning?

**So, I have a new story. I feel like I'm cheating both you _and_ myself out of writing another chapter for Alpha Centauri. I apologize. I just had this magical brainchild that combines a character from an original story I have up on FictionPress, called Phoenix Rising (my account is under the same name), and what happens when she's recruited by SHIELD for the Avengers. So, yeah. Here it is, and I hope y'all enjoy it!**

**PS. I own Arianna "Phoenix" Beckman, the ILSB, and the city of Manensk, Russia is my own creation (there might be an actual city with the same name, but this is only coincidental) and I also own the prison and anything else that you don't recognize.**

* * *

Manensk, Russia  
March 8, 2013  
0300 hours

* * *

Bounce, bounce... and catch.

Bounce, bounce... and catch.

I pause for a second to shake out by dark-brown and red-and-gold-streaked hair and adjust my position on the cold ground, my back leaning against my simple cot. I then resume, the moonlight highlighting my deeply tanned arm as I chuck the tennis ball again.

Bounce, bounce... and catch.

Bounce, bounce... and catch.

Bounce, bounce... and catch.

The rhythm of my tossing the tennis ball into the ground, it hitting the wall opposite me and my bed, and then finally landing perfectly into my outstretched hand is the only sound that echoes dully through my cell. From the adjacent and surrounding cells, I can hear the various prisoners shifting in their cots. The footsteps of the roaming guards and the jangle of their keys and weapons resonates throughout the concrete hallways. Yeah, I know what you're wondering.

Ari, why the Hell are you in a freakin' _prison_? And not just _any_ prison, but a high-security high-class criminal facility, and you're the only girl there, too!

_What_?

Yeah, I know.

I'm only here because this is the strongest prison facility, and I'm currently being accused of being an American spy on a mission to infiltrate the Russian government, but in reality, I was tracking an ILSB source.

ILSB stands for the International League of Supernatural/ human Beings. My division is the URL, or Undercover and Retrieval Legion. So, yeah, I'm kinda half-undercover and half not. I honestly have no idea where everything goes from here. I'm a bit apprehensive to try and break out, because 1) I don't want to cause a nuclear war between the US and Russia, and 2) I have no reason to break out; I still have to find the source, and he happens to be close to the location of this prison.

I groan as my mind wanders back to the purpose of my mission. It was supposed to be a quick, two-day go-in-and-get-outta-there retrieval, but I've been in this dump for just over a month. I'm not even sure the ILSB knows where I am. My other guess is that it's taking forever to sort out the whole entire international issue of she-isn't-actually-a-spy-but-an-agent-of-the-ILSB. 

I caught your attention, _didn't I_? I bet you're curious now: superhuman? Yup. I have wings and control fire. That's why they call me Phoenix. In addition to my newly-developing telepathy, I'm also working on telekinesis. As for the fire, I'm pretty much in total control. A cool thing about my abilities is that I can get most of my energy from the sun, for my powers, and for daily use instead of food and sleep.

"Arianna Beckman?"

I look up and see a guard standing at my door. He has somewhat pale skin, and from the looks of it, light-brown hair, but I can't really tell because of the darkness. He looks to be in his late thirties or early forties. I frown slightly. I have not seen him before; he must be new.

I raise my eyebrow and blink my naturally glowing red eyes as he unlocks the door. "Yeah?"

"I need you to come with me."

My other eyebrow shoots up. From what I can read off of him using my developing telepathy, I know that I can trust him. But do I? _Should_ I?

The metal-barred door is rolled open. I leap to my feet and dash outside, barely making a sound. He shuts the door behind me with as little noise as possible.

"I put the video feed on a loop of you sleeping," he explains when I look at him questioningly. "We have to hurry though; the guards will continue their rounds."

I nod and then keep at his heels as he speedily leads me to the roof of the compound. I can't help but wonder: if he's this good to get to me and rescue me, is he an agent sent in from the ILSB? If he is, I haven't seen him before; my division is less than thirty strong, so I definitely would remember him. My doubt is confirmed correct when he leads me to a black helicopter on a nearby helipad. The chopper doesn't look like any of the models the ILSB uses.

"Who are you?" I demand. "Who do you work for?"

"I am Agent Coulson, and I work for SHIELD," he replies. "I can assure you, though, that we are the good guys."

He's telling the truth. I nod again, not changing my stony facial expression, and climb into the chopper after him. A pilot, who was waiting in the cockpit, hands us a pair of headphones with microphones. As we take off, I notice the amount of intel they must've had to prepare for this operation; while practicing my mind-reading, I picked up a tidbit that the warden was expecting a series of helicopter arrivals and take-offs within the next few days. I'm not sure for what, though.

Anyways, once we're a good thousand feet in the air, I turn to the man who rescued me- Coulson.

"What is SHIELD?" I ask. "Is it a government agency? Are you in contact with the ILSB? Why did you rescue me?"

"You ask a lot of questions," Coulson replies. "Yes, SHIELD is a government agency, we are currently in contact with the ILSB, and we rescued you because we want you to work for us as an Avenger."

I'd heard about the Avengers before, but my work never brought me close enough to them to meet them. I cannot say that I'm not intrigued, but I'm worried about issues with the Russian government.

When I voice this worry, Coulson tells me, "Unfortunately, that's classified information. However, everyone but the directors of the ILSB and the head of your division think you're dead."

My eyes widen as a feeling like ice washes over my spine. "That's horrible! _Why_?"

"The mission was supposed to be simple, but you've been gone for over a month, so people naturally suspected the worst. The directors of the ILSB and your division, however, remained in contact with us, and we worked together to locate you. They were overjoyed when we found you here.

"In addition, they think working with the Avengers could be a good experience for you. They know that you do like to be in the spotlight whenever you can, but your division has you working in the shadows, and mostly individually, so this could also be a good experience for working on a team. In the end, if you say yes to the Avengers, the directors of the ILSB and the URL will allow you to reveal yourself as alive- but not before then- because you will be seen in public very often. If you choose not to, then they would like you to remain hidden; they said they had a special mission for you."

By now, my head is reeling. I was only gone for not even two months, but _less_! How could people already think I'm _dead_? I'm not weak! I force myself back to reality. "Have the Avengers already been informed?" I wonder.

Coulson shakes his head. "Not yet; they only know that, if you say yes, then they'll be getting a new teammate. Other than that, they only know that you're female and have had training before this."

"Okay. I just don't want them to know about my powers. Not yet."

"Why is that?"

I smirk. "I wanna see the expressions on their faces when they see my wings."

* * *

**First chapter, and only as much as I've written so far. Did you like it more than AC? Or do you like AC more? Comments are encouraged! I also don't own the image- it was done by Renato666 on Deviant Art.**


	2. Just Relax, Lay Back, and Be Easy

**So, next chapter, and still no update on AC. Yeah, I just need time to think out the plot line a bit more- there are ****_so_**** many gaping holes. Please don't kill me!**

**I own Ari, the ILSB, some of the plot (if not all), and anything else you don't recognize.**

* * *

SHIELD Helicarrier, Somewhere in the Mid-Pacific  
March 8, 2013  
0432 Hours

* * *

About an hour later, the helicopter reaches its destination: a large aircraft carrier ship cruising in the Pacific Ocean. I stare in wonder at the size of the ship; we don't have those in the ILSB. I really wish we did.

I turn to Coulson and ask, "Is this the Avengers HQ?"

"Not quite, but SHIELD uses this as a base for many of their- our- operations."

"Ah." The chopper lands and I follow Coulson out as he climbs down and walks to an entryway leading below deck. I try as best as I can to memorize the path we take to get to wherever we're going. As we make our way down an especially long corridor, the agent hands me a pair of fancy reflective aviator sunglasses. I look at him in question, and he says, "For your eyes."

"Oh." I don't waste time in putting them on. We stop by a door, and Coulson punches in a four-digit code into the corresponding keypad.

"This is the room you'll be staying in until we get to New York," he informs me as he opens the door. "The code is two-seven-four-two. In your dresser, there is clothing; the sizes were given to us by the ILSB. In your personal bathroom are a simple toiletry kit and hotel sizes of shower necessities. If you need anything, pick up the phone and dial two-six-three."

"Thanks," I say as I turn and smile at the agent.

"Try to get some sleep. Breakfast will be served from seven to ten."

"Okay. Good... eh, morning." With that, he leaves me to the quiet of my new room. I find a light switch and flip it on, revealing a room between twenty and twenty-five square feet with brown shag carpeting and a strange yet pretty shade of a dusty reddish-rose color on the walls. A queen-sized bed lays perpendicular to the wall at my right, with silvery sheets and a matching mahogany nightstand. A simple black-painted dresser with four drawers is pushed to the wall opposite, and that is next to a small flat-screen TV.

Beyond that is the entrance to a bathroom (the door has a full-length mirror) with white floor tiles and pale yellow walls. The bathtub, toilet, and sink are all white ceramic, and the sink is mounted on a white granite counter with streaks of charcoal. Any toiletries are waiting on the counter top for my use.

Without a second thought, I toss my sunglasses onto my bed, strip my hideous and typical orange jumpsuit, and turn the shower on full-blast. When you're a pyrokinetic like me, lukewarm just doesn't do it. I grab the shampoo and relish the floral scent it gives off. I can't remember the last time I had a legit shower.

I know that my wings are probably the third most disgusting they've ever been (don't even get me started on the first two times!) so I carefully extend them, moaning as most of my joints crack. Yeah, these are the same wings I mentioned before. I pause for a moment to roll my shoulder blades, and then continue, stretching each wing individually; there is not enough room in the shower for both to be fully extended at the same time.

Stretching seventeen feet across, all of my feathers are a beautiful shade of warm rusty red that gleam gold in the sun. My longer bottom feathers, which are called primaries and secondaries, have a smoky edging.

I let the burning water soak my wings, washing away weeks of sweat and grime, turning the water brown. When I'm finally done using up the ship's hot water supply, I wrap myself in a plush white towel, grabbing one for my wings. After twisting my chocolate- and flame-colored locks up in a third towel, I pat my wings dry and check the towel. I smile; it comes back clean.

I hang that towel on the back of the bathroom door and shuffle out to the main room. As I'm walking, I catch a glimpse of myself in my underwear in the full-length mirror. My caramel skin is full of random scars, most of them the cause of knifes or, in only a couple cases, bullets. Three jagged but parallel claw marks run from the tip of my left shoulder to just above my right hip. The people I was fighting at the time decided that it would be a good idea to genetically enhance wolf-dogs, and one of them managed to get his claws into me. Other than that, the only really unusual series of scars is right above my belly button. I was tortured, and a permanent branding was the result.

I suddenly snap out of my flashback. I check the digital clock on my nightstand; it reads just after five-twenty. I might as well just stay up- I can get any needed energy from the sun. I strut over to the dresser to dig through my clothes. I am happily surprised to see that, not only did the ILSB ship my entire wardrobe, but they also packed my favourite watch, my iTouch, my stereo dock, and my earbuds.

_Hmm..._ I want to make a good first impression, but what _kind_ of first impression? After about a minute, I decide on a pair of sleek, Vigoss dark wash skinny jeans; a plain, lipstick-red tank top that is the same color as my hair streaks; and a cute leather bomber jacket that I left half zipped (this one does not have slits for my wings). For my shoes I select my favourite pair of gray Vans. I make sure to adjust my wings; grab my iTouch, earbuds, watch, and hair ties; and slip on my sunglasses before heading out the door.

I don't know how many people are awake yet, so I try to walk as quietly as possible. When trying to find the same route I came down by, I only get lost once. Surprisingly, I don't pass any agents on my way to the deck. As soon as I am standing on the main runway I close my eyes and breathe a sigh of relief. The cool morning air feels so refreshing against my face, and the dark sky is growing paler, creating a beautiful background for the remaining stars. The only sounds come from the thrumming motors and the waves lapping at the side of the ship.

I open my eyes, pull off my jacket, and open my wings to the breeze, relishing the feeling. After a few moments, I tie my jacket around my waist and pull my hair into a low ponytail. I then retract my wings and sprint as fast as I can to the other end of the boat, which is three hundred meters, give or take a few. Just as my foot hits the edge, I spread my wings and soar.

* * *

**Second chappy, you like? Yeah, it's a bit shorter than the first one, so sue me.**

**Comments are totally acceptable. There's nothing preventing you from doing it. Maybe if I get enough comments, I try extra-hard to update AC!**

**PS. I'm gonna start naming chapters after movie titles, song titles, and lyrics, according to the general plot of the chapter. This one is "Be Easy" by Radical Something- I couldn't think of anything else :-)**


	3. Win, Thrive, Soar, Higher, HIGHER!

**MAIL BAG:**

**ariadne (guest): Well, here's the next one :-)**

* * *

**I own Ari; her parents, her friends, and her brother, Carter; the ILSB; most of the plot, including Ari's backstory; and anything else you don't recognize.**

**Special Thanks: itsleanneyall**

**Title: "Fly" by Nicki Minaj.**

* * *

I grin as I skim the surface of the water, dragging my fingers along its icy surface. I lift up and spiral to the sky, cackling gleefully as I loop-de-loop time and time again. The air is even colder up here, so I have to raise my inner body temperature. My heat powers give me that ability. It's very useful; it's how I survived February back in Russia.

As I zoom higher and higher into the glowing-white sky, I check my watch, which also records my altitude and speed. One of the perks about the ILSB: the cool tech. It says that I'm just over twenty thousand feet, and my fastest today just over one-sixty miles per hour. I grin; it's my second fastest time. My all-time record is clocked at one-eighty-two, and that was right before I got arrested.

I notice that the white sky is fading to periwinkle. While checking on my stats, I also catch a glimpse of the time. Seven-thirteen. I've been flying for over an hour and a half! Assuming that Coulson and this director person will let me sleep in because of my, uh, "situation" in Russia, I probably won't be needed anytime soon.

I lower to ten thousand feet and glide for a few minutes, dipping a wing and swerving back whenever I feel I've gone too far. As I sail along the breeze, I let my thoughts wander. I wonder how my parents are doing. Before I was taken in by the ILSB, I lived with my mom and step-dad. My real father left when I was seven. When I say "he left" I mean that he disappeared off the face of the earth. Everyone thinks he's dead except for my mom, but she just doesn't think about it. Neither does my older brother, Carter, who should be twenty-four this year, on May twenty-third. I'm only three years younger than him, but I was placed into cryogenic preservation in 2007 (ha ha, the fire-girl was frozen, _I get it_) when I was fifteen (an _extremely_ long story) for almost the next five years. I only woke up a few months ago, in late November, just in time for my twentieth birthday. However, I still look- and act- like I'm just a teenager.

I then shift to my friends. They'd all be older than me now, but only by three or four years since I was a little older than half the agents in my age group, which had students from fourteen to eighteen years old. This caused me to be friends with many kids who were a year or two younger than me. Five of my friends, however, were also frozen with me, so we stuck like superglue after that incident and any that followed.

I've been gone for so long, I wonder if any of my normal friends still think about me. They probably think I'm dead- it's been several years since I last spoke to my best friend from regular school, Jaimie. I wonder if my parents think I'm dead. I wonder if Carter thinks I'm dead. If they _do_ think about me, how often?

At this thought, I begin to cry. I pocket my sunglasses and halt in my path, trying to control my sobs. I fear that if I let myself break down completely, then I won't be able to concentrate enough on keeping myself in the air. However, I don't want to land. A little while ago, at eight o'clock, a few agents had come out to check on the aircraft onboard; I don't want them to see me so broken- at least, not yet. I have to be able to trust them.

I regain a happier composure and slip my sunglasses back on. I continue to circle as I see them point to me, occasionally waving to them. Ka-kaw, ka-kaw, right?

I pause a few times to soak up the sun's light, letting the warm rays rejuvenate me. When I finally land, it's right before nine and all the agents have gone inside. I sit on my perch on top of the control tower, basking in the sun once more. I jump down, doing a double front flip, using my wings to slow my descent.

I do a few basic dance stretches and attempt to do the splits, but in these jeans, it ain't happening. I do, however, stretch my wings as far as they can go, and boy, does it feel great. I grin at the sight of my feathers shimmering iridescent gold in the sunlight.

"Ah-hem," I hear someone cough from behind me. In less than a second, I manage to retract my wings, whirl around, and have the agent pinned on his back.

"Oh my _Gawd_, Coulson!" I gasp as I release my grip around his neck. "I'm _so, so sorry_! I had _no_ idea it was you!"

"It's fine," Coulson waves me off as he stands, "I should've made myself visible."

"Um... so, what's up?" I ask as I put on my jacket.

"The rest of the Avengers are up, and we think it a good opportunity for you to meet."

_Oh._ "Well... uh, sure, I guess, why not?"

"They're waiting in the cafeteria. Follow me," he gestures, and I tag after him as I take out my iTouch and earbuds. I connect the earbuds, shove the iTouch back into my front right jeans pocket, and then loop the cord around the back of my neck, leaving the earbud part hanging over my left shoulder **(1)**. As we walk through the corridors, I begin to fidget nervously. I take my hair down, put it back up, and then take it down again. I readjust my tank top, and then my jacket: first leaving it unzipped, and then zipping up all the way, and then leaving it half way up.

_Gawd, why am I so nervous? _I reprimand myself as nervously I twist my rings. I've been through this process before; I know that I'll probably be facing some of the most intense judging- I'm basically still sixteen, and I'm joining a team full of adults who are, more or less, a bit more mature than me.

It's not that I'm scared of being useless to the _team_; I could take any of them down on any given day (well, maybe not the Hulk). I'm scared of otherwise being a waste of time, space, and energy. I have _no_ idea what any of these people are like, so I have _no_ idea what to expect, which- quite frankly- scares the _crap_ out of me.

Any agent that passes us also _has_ to give us these weird looks. I don't even know- oh wait, it's because I look like a _goddamn sixteen-year-old_. People tell me that, if I put on makeup and high heels, I _look_ like I'm actually twenty. Well, guess who, at a sad height of five-foot-three, isn't wearing _either_ of those things?

However, the good and very amusing thing about being underestimated is that you always get to laugh at people's shocked facial expressions right after you proved them utterly and completely _wrong_. I flash back to when I was kidnapped by one of the numerous evil organizations that I've fought. I had to fight one of theirs, and I beat him in less than five minutes. He, at three years older than I was (twenty-three; I had already been cryo'ed) and with the power to duplicate himself, was supposedly their most experienced fighter, and I barely even broke a sweat. Remind me to tell you that story sometime- it's quite awesome, if I do say so myself.

I actually get so lost in thought that I barely snap out of it in time to see that we've almost arrived.

* * *

**(1) I do this so the cord doesn't get in the way. It's pretty useful.**


	4. Hello Little Gi- I'm Not Little!

**I do not own the Avengers. I _do_ own Ari etc.**

**AN: I changed the whole cryo'ed event- instead of four other friends, it's now five. ****I also messed around with her timeline a bit when she was reminiscing in the last chapter; she was cryo'ed in 2007 (right after she turned fifteen). She never went to normal high school; she was in sixth grade when she was recruited.**

******Title: "Hello Little Girl" by The Beatles**

* * *

March 8, 2013  
Later That Morning  
0922 Hours

* * *

I'm ten feet from the cafeteria entrance when I halt. I'm so freaked out and I honestly have no idea why. It's not that I'm getting any _bad_ vibes; it's all me. It's that feeling of OMG-I'm-gonna-meet-the-world's-most-famous-heroes kind of fluttery feeling.

_Yeah._ No pressure _whatsoever_.

Anyways, Coulson notices and also stops, waving me off. "Don't worry; just be yourself," he suggests.

"I'm pretty sure that I would scare them away," I mumble to the agent as I shuffle into the cafeteria. My eyes widen with nervousness from behind my shades when I catch sight of all six Avengers sitting at a table together. Most of them are listening intently to a bald man with dark skin who is wearing a black trench coat and an eyepatch. The only one _not_ listening is Tony Stark, whom I've seen on TV and in tabloid articles on the Internet; he seems to be researching something on a touch-screen tablet, which is most likely one of his personal designs.

"...and it's important that you make her feel at home," I hear Trench Coat say, "as she could be an extremely valuable asset to the Avengers."

"Director Fury," Coulson calls out, making Trench- I mean, _Fury_- and the Avengers to look in our direction. This is _one_ spotlight I _really_ don't like being in.

"Wait," a man with gelled back blonde hair says slowly, "is she our new teammate?" I read his mind. His name is Steve Rogers, codenamed Captain America.

"Yes, she is," Fury replies.

"But she's, like, twelve!" Tony Stark pipes up. He turns to me. "And what up with the Matrix-sunglasses-indoors thing? Hangover?"

"Hardly," I snap. "And I'm sixteen!" And not even _that_- I'm friggin' _TWENTY_! Well, I actually _do_ drink sometimes, but because I also have a superhuman healing factor, it has hardly any effect on me. But seriously, like _I'm_ gonna tell them _that_ right now? _Ha!_

"So, what's your name?" asks a man with dark curly hair and glasses. Bruce Banner, AKA the Hulk.

"I'm Ari," I answer.

"What's it short for?" a brunette with blue eyes asks me. Clinton "Clint" Barton, or Hawkeye.

"Short for AriWillKickYouIntoNextWeekIfYouCallHerAnything_But_. This, of course, is excluding her codename."

"Which would be...?"

"I'll let you guess once you've correctly guessed my abilities."

"What are these abilities, may I ask?" asks a man with long blonde hair wearing silver armor. Thor Odinson. His accent amuses me _so_ very much.

I turn to the Director. "You didn't tell them yet?" I ask quietly.

"No," he replies. "Coulson came to me right after he showed you to your room and informed me of your request."

"Thank you." I turn back to the Avengers. "Hmm... well, most kids my age haven't been trained in as many forms of hand-to-hand combat as I have been. My weapon of choice... definitely a katana or a staff. I'm not opposed to guns, I just don't like using them myself.

"Um... I'm working on strengthening my telekinetic abilities," I offer. "However, that's not one of my main abilities."

"So you have more than one?" Clint asks.

"Yup."

"So... why, again, are you not telling us?" Tony asks.

"'Cuz I wanna see your expressions. And I also reserve the right to not tell you my life's story after we've known each other for less than five minutes."

"Who or what agency previously trained you?" a woman with a bright red bob inquires. Natasha Romanoff, Black Widow.

"Uh, tha-"

"The ILSB, the International League of Superhuman Beings," Tony announces, interrupting me.

"And _how_ did you know _that_?" I demand, my expression not changing from neutral.

"I hacked the SHIELD database and found several messages including both your name, Arianna Beckman, and that of the ILSB." I glower when he says my name.

"However, when I try to find the ILSB itself, I'm blocked from their database. Nothing mentions your abilities." At this, my face changes to a triumphant smirk.

"That is because, Tony, we happen to be an _underground_ organization. You only get in if you're approached by a member. I was recruited when I was twelve."

"You were _twelve_?" Steve asks incredulously. "Is that _really_ how _young_ they start these days?"

"Sometimes younger," I assure him. "However, they don't go through the same amount of training as the older members do. For example, you start working on larger-scale and more complex techniques with your abilities when you are between ten and thirteen, and weapons training starts when you're thirteen, unless you have previous training or a parent's consent or dissent. The director always makes sure that we stay safe and are not too much out of our comfort zones. It's pretty much like a regular school- they also make sure we improve on basic academic subjects- but with a... _different_ set of extracurricular, shall we say, activities.

"Hey, Natasha, looks like you'll have a new sparring partner," Tony comments. She just glares at him.

"So... I told you about my life," I point out. "What about y'all?"

"'Y'all'?" Thor asks. "I do not understand..."

"'Y'all' is slang," I explain, "a contraction of 'you all'. It's mostly used in the south part of the US, but I use it 'cuz I can."

He nods slowly. "I see." Even as he says this, I can still see the minute traces of the confused look he wore only moments ago.

"Earth problems number one: the English language in general."

There's a moment of silence before Clint pipes up, "So, why again won't you tell us what your abilities are?"

"'Cuz... it'll be fun seeing what y'all come up with."

"So we don't even get any starting tips? No hints?"

"Well, it _is_ a little unfair... first and only hint I'll give you: the codename '_Hawk_eye'?" I smirk. "That's cute, just like that lady, Jean Grey (that _bitch_!)."

My enhanced hearing catches Steve mumble to himself as he face-palms, "This will be a very interesting week."

* * *

**So. You like? If you did, comment. If you didn't, what do _you_ think should happen next/should've happened earlier? Also, how should the team find out her abilities? This will, of course, involve lots of pranking and immature behavior.**

**Also, who do you think she should be in a relationship with? Comment! Anyone from the MARVEL is fair play (i.e. an Avenger, an X-Man, a Fantastic Four member, Spiderman, even Flash Thompson) _EXCEPT_ for Nick Fury and Phil Coulson. I'm not a fan of writing same sex (I have NOTHING AGAINST homosexuals, I just don't like writing it myself- _PLEASE_ don't take that the wrong way :-) ). Also, _try_ to stay _below_ 30 years old.**

**So sue me, the ILSB's name is totally cheesy. But hey- I was _SO _not coming up with one as complicated as SHIELD's.**


	5. The Stars Make Me Wonder Where You Are

**I REALIZE that I neglected to mention that Ari also has three male friends from the ILSB, with whom she was frozen with: Lorenzo Mendoza, Matt Sharpe, and Joshua Goldman. They are all sixteen-seventeen, too, so you can choose one of them for possible love interests.**

**I ALSO FORGOT to give thanks to an author who is currently following the story. Go check 'em out!**

**Disclaimer: I own Ari Beckman, Allie Cho, Tiffany Slater, and the three boys mentioned above.**

**Special Thanks: HalfIronman**

**Title: "Stars" by Grace Potter and the Nocturnals (I like Amanda Brown's version better- look her up on YouTube)**

* * *

SHIELD Helicarrier Corridor  
March 8, 2013  
1005 Hours

* * *

I'm walking back to my room, thoughts of my time with the ILSB running through my head. I am to work with the team for a few months, getting assigned to work on missions with each of the team members one-on-one, in groups of three, and other combinations to get a feel of everyone's fighting style.

My friends Allie Cho and Tiffany Slater would be freaking out if they heard about me working with the Avengers. I was never really one to keep up with the superhero community, as I was put on long-term missions more often than not, which also got in the way of my social life. For Tiffany and Allie, however, the Avengers were the talk of the millennium. My guy friends, Lorenzo Mendoza, Matt Sharpe, and Joshua Goldman, couldn't care less.

My thoughts wander back to what Coulson said a few hours ago, when we were on the helicopter: now my friends think I'm dead. I would only see them if I said yes to the Avengers. At this point, though, I have absolutely no idea what my decision could be, and I don't want to use the fact that I could see my friends again to be the only factor that makes me choose the Avengers. However, if I don't, the directors of the ILSB and the URL might- no, _will_- want to use the fact that everyone thinks I'm dead to their advantage; they would have me go on all of the dangerous undercover missions, giving me an image inducer so no one would recognize me.

I frown and almost start crying; that's not the life I want to live.

I'm still thinking about my possible future when I bump into Captain America- Steve Rogers. "I'm sorry," I say, trying to rid my voice of sadness. "I was so deep in thought and I wasn't watching."

"I should be the one apologizing, m'am," he replies politely. "I was watching, and therefore have no excuse to bump into you. Ari, correct?"

"Yes. But please," I shake my head and motion for him to walk with me, "I'm hardly the girl you need to be such a gentleman to."

"I believe every woman deserves respect until proven otherwise, and so far, you haven't done so."

I feel heat rush to my face. He's kinda cute- no, really _hot_. Thankfully, because of my tan skin, he won't be able to see me blush. "What if I told you that I've slept with eight different guys over the course of three months?"

"I admit, I'd be a little surprised, but I wouldn't jump to any conclusions only based on that. Is that true, though?"

"You'd only be a little surprised? And no, it isn't true; I was just testing you. But hey, just wait until you meet my friend Allie."

Steve raises his eyebrow. "How come? What about her is so shocking?"

"What _isn't_?" I chuckle. "Knowing her... ugh, you wouldn't _want_ to know. However, I will tell you that I'm the only one who's called her a… rather degrading name, and lived to tell the tale."

"So she's tough, but has made some... less than smart choices, shall we say?"

"Yeah. I, along with the directors of the ILSB and the URL, are the only ones that haven't given up our respect for her."

"That's terrible."

"Yeah." I pause for a moment before a thought comes to my mind. "You know, I was cryogenically frozen, too, for a little less than five years. However, the process I went through was professional."

"People do that?" I can hear the astonishment in his voice.

"Yes. Allie was one of five others I was frozen with. She would have a fit over me being away for so long."

"Why would she?"

"The mission I just got back from was supposed to be a few days- fly into Russia, get someone, and get them out. I was supposed to be back in less than a week, back in February. However, I was arrested, and I had no way of contacting anyone without drawing suspicion, so Coulson had to come get me. They now think the American government is sending teenagers to do their dirty work."

"Why were you arrested?"

"I was caught after I snuck into somewhere."

"Ah."

"Yeah."

We continue walking in silence. He turns to me. "You have a promising future in this."

"Says the guy who sounded surprised that a teenager was joining the Avengers. There are kids younger than me in the ILSB."

"I apologize for that, but I believe my doubt is reasonable. I would be scared for you if you went up against someone as big as the Hulk, or bigger."

I stop and so does he. "If I went up against the Hulk, who may have some speed, but has to jump from place to place to get long distances. If you're running from him and he has to jump in a straight line to get to you, all you have to do is switch directions. He won't be able to; he's in midair. He may have strength, but being so small and having the abilities that I do, I have agility on my side. That's all I need." _With my wings, he also won't be getting within several meters of my location_, I add to myself as we resume walking.

He ponders my theory for a short moment before finally agreeing. "Yeah, I can see how that works."

I grin, but I let it fade as soon as I turn so he can't see my face. Another pause.

"When I bumped into you earlier, you seemed very sad. What were you thinking about?"

I hesitate before answering monotonously, "Earlier, Coulson said that everyone I know thinks I'm dead."

"Why would they?"

"That mission in Russia? It took five times longer than expected, and the directors of the ILSB and the URL, which is my division, were the only two people to remain in contact with SHIELD when they found me and when they were trying to get me out."

"Why can't you contact them now?"

"Coulson told me that they only want me to reveal myself if I choose to work with the Avengers permanently, and right now, I have no idea if I'll want to or not." I begin to cry. "But if I choose not to, then they'll keep me hidden so I can do all their dirty work. While wearing an _image inducer_. I won't be able to see my friends either way- the URL will keep them busy, what with this whole Russia conflict rising."

I sniff. "I just can't bear not being able to see my friends again; the fact that we were all preserved together only brings us closer to the point where we're like sisters."

"Hey, don't worry." Steve pulls me into a gentle hug that I return, still sniffling. "You'll be okay. I'm sure the directors of the ILSB will give your friends time to visit you. Would you like me to tell the others?" he asks as we pull apart. A part of me longs to dive into his embrace again.

I shake my head. "No. They don't have to know; at least, not just yet."

* * *

**Just for the future, I may change around the times for everything, so make sure to also check out previous chapters for any updates on Ari's timeline. Thanks!**

**I changed the conditions for joining the Avengers a little- SEE THE END OF CHAPTER ONE if you had read it before this chapter was published.**


	6. Everybody Was Kung-Fu Fightin'- Ouch!

**Yyaaaaaayy! New chapter, _finally_!**

**So I just recently read a few stories on this site that make Nick Fury out to be this annoying jackass who always does the stupidest shit and can't find a way to keep his abnormally large nose out of other people's business. I discovered that I hate this Nick Fury. In my story, I want to make him still a bit strict, but nicer and less dumb-shitty and more sensible about issues regarding the team's wellbeing. I'll explain my reasons in a later chapter- spoiler alert!**

**Special Thanks: la fille de Zeus**

**Shout-out: jumpingandfalling- this author has favourited me, the story, is following this story, _and_ commented! Quadruple threat! Can anyone top that? C'mon!**

**Title: "Kung-Fu Fighting" by Carl Douglas**

* * *

SHIELD Helicarrier Gymnasium, Somewhere in the Mid-Pacific  
March 8, 2013  
1404 Hours

* * *

So. Post-lunch training. _Fun_. Natasha and Clint did a little demonstration before setting me up against anyone, and it looked to be more of a dance than a round of fighting. Clint would strike low while Natasha flipped over, landing sturdily and dart in for the strike immediately after. They finished, and the only thing I could think of was that I'd only win against one of those two if I used my telepathy so I would know what they were gonna do next.

Then it was my turn.

They first put me up against Tony, whom I was scared to fight at first. It wasn't for him hurting me- it was vice versa. I wasn't sure how much hand-to-hand training he'd had, but he seemed sufficient enough... well, fighting me doesn't really count, as I've been specially trained not only by a government organization but also by our own enemy.

So, yeah.

Anyways, after we'd climbed into the boxing ring, he started off with a roundhouse kick with his right foot, but I grabbed it and, in one sharp motion, directed the momentum downwards, causing the billionaire to flip over once and land on his back.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" I'd asked as I helped him up, a hint of worry in my voice.

"Not too much," he replied. "Just a little startled. Damn, you're good."

I grinned at the compliment. "Thank you."

"Next round," Natasha called out. This went on for the next four rounds, totaling five in all. After, I was set to go against Steve, which is where we are now.

"Okay, um, I'm sorry if I hurt you," I say.

"I don't think you will, m'am, but thanks for the concern," the blonde returns.

_Again_, with the "m'am" thing? "Looks like you skipped out on modern combat school," I smirk. "Lesson one: never underestimate me. For example, the last guy who did so ended up in a coma for a few weeks. This brings me to sub-lesson one: I don't know my own strength, so don't piss me off. I don't want you dead, and I doubt you do, too."

"I'll make sure to keep that in mind, then."

"Ready?" Natasha asks, and we both nod, positioning ourselves for combat. "Begin match!"

Okay- I'm not cheating! I'm just reading his mind a little to see what he's gonna do. That's how I know to dart to the left when he lunges forward, punching out with his right arm. I again use his momentum, but to pull him further forward into my raised right knee, causing him to _oof_. I then push him away to give myself enough room to bring my foot back up into his stomach as a sidekick. This blow sends him stumbling halfway across the ring and into the elastic sides.

"Well, _damn_," I comment, my eyes wide. When I finally snap out of it, I rush over to help him up. "Holy crap, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he grunts as I pull him up. "You pack quite a punch there, m'am."

I chuckle nervously. "Well, you're now a first-hand witness of my strength."

"Remind me," I hear Tony say to Bruce, "to not corner her in a dark alleyway."

"Hey, enhanced hearing!" I call, and Tony smirks. "Okay, I'm bored of this now. Can we do something else?"

"Like what?" Natasha asks.

"That drinking game- what's it called?" Tony pipes up.

"Never Have I Ever?" I offer.

"Yeah!"

"But Ari's not old enough to drink," Bruce, who is watching from the sidelines, cuts in.

"Well, I am somewhere, right? And besides, there is the little issue of my enhanced metabolism _and_ the fact that I'm technically twenty. It's close enough to twenty-one, and besides, you won't take any of the blame because if I get drunk, than it's entirely my fault."

"You are sixteen but you are twenty? What do you mean by that?" Thor asks.

"I was cryogenically frozen when I was fifteen. Steve knows this."

The team looks at me, shocked and pitying expressions on their faces. Bruce is about to say something when I cut him off.

"Oh, Gawd," I sigh exasperatedly, more to myself than anyone else. "_This _is why I didn't want to say anything! I don't _want _your pitying looks! This whole thing was something I agreed to do. It was part of a bigger schedule, but something bad that could've happened was avoided, so we were awakened earlier than the original schedule."

Tony gapes. "You mean people are actually frozen nowadays? And on _purpose_?"

"Yes. However, the person's consent is needed. No one at the ILSB is allowed to do anything- no tests, no nothing- without our consent first."

"You mentioned that something bad could've happened," Bruce put in, "but it was avoided, which resulted in your being awakened earlier than when you originally were supposed to be..."

"Yes," I confirm. "The operation was called Project Savior. One of the head council members at the ILSB is also a powerful clairvoyant. She saw, as the result of a mole within the League's staff, that tensions between already feuding countries would continue to rise and eventually boil over within the next few years. She also saw that it could lead to an unavoidable nuclear disaster, creating a devastated world which five other members and I would fight to protect and rebuild.

"Because she managed to warn the directors of the American division and the URL, the Undercover and Retrieval League, they managed to apprehend the rogue staff member in the act of inserting a chip into one of the others, a device that was designed by our enemies to allow them to control minds."

After a momentary pause, Clint pipes up, "That is some seriously messed-up shit."

"Well, it's my seriously messed-up shitty life. And don't even get me started on my daddy issues. He decided to get lost when I wasn't even in preschool! Of course, my mom has a new boyfriend, but I always got the feeling that he was _way_ too intimidated by me. But then again, I guess that's what happens when you decide to start dating a lady with a superfreak daughter."

* * *

**So. Comments? Please? Do I have to sic Puss 'n' Boots' cat eyes on you? And hey, check out my new story- well, it's more like a set of one or two-shots. It's called "Alpha Centauri: A Peek Into the Life of Andromeda Sims". It's a side story along with "AC I: The Beginning" that will focus more on Andy's private and social life, with a few cracky fics involving the League and/or the Team.**

**Also, check out the author David D. Amaya. I'm beta-reading for his newest story, "BMOC 8: A Knight on the Town" and it's full of action and humor!**

**And don't forget to check out my account on FictionPress, along with the author Ssirppi, who I'm also beta-ing for.**

******LAST THING! Please, _please_, _PLEASE_ tell me if any of my characters are too Mary-Sue-ish or Marty-Stu-ish! Thanks!**

******Ok, last thing for realsies this time: the author Jumpingandfalling is working with me on this story, so don't freak out when you see this story on their account.**

******Review? Please?**


	7. Who Do You Think You Are? Seriously!

**Whoo! Chapter seven! That was friggin' fast! I have the feeling that this will be a somewhat long-ish story, maybe twenty chapters, maybe even more. As usual, I still own nothing. Poopy.**

**Title: "Jar of Hearts" by Christina Perry**

* * *

SHIELD Helicarrier Dormitory, Somewhere in the Pacific  
March 9, 2013  
1001 Hours

* * *

The rest of the day went without a hitch. After training, we'd gone back to our rooms to do our own things. We had dinner together, and we all had an early bedtime. Well, I, of course, stayed up until the clock read AM instead of PM. What, do you ask, was I doing? I was listening to Daughtry, obviously. And, well, being a teenager, I'm not exactly one to go to sleep when I'm really supposed to.

Today, I awaken to Coulson knocking on my door. I heave myself up so I'm leaning forward on my hands, as I had fallen asleep on my stomach. I lumber out of my warm, oh-so-comfortable bed and yank my fuzzy pink bathrobe from the hook on the back of the bathroom door and put it on over my tank top and sweatpants. I tie the belt in a single knot and pull the door open. During these events, my eyes remained only half-open, and I didn't even try to rake my fingers through my hair once, so I'm sure that I look positively delightful when I greet Coulson, who looks as immaculate as ever. I can't help but mumble my disapproval of him waking me by knocking so loudly.

"Good morning, Ari," he greets me in a formal tone, ignoring my protest. "Director Fury has called a meeting in the conference room in forty-five minutes, and you are required to attend. Also, breakfast is being served in the cafeteria."

I blink twice slowly, my eyes adjusting to the contrast of light coming from outside and the lack of coming from my bedroom. I nod my head in acknowledgement, smile weakly, and lazily wave my good-morning to Coulson. He returns a nod before walking away. I shut the door and mosey on over to my dresser to pick out clothes for the day. I lay them on top of my messed up comforter and sheets; strip my bathrobe, tank top, and sweats; and head to the bathroom.

Once inside, I shut the door before grabbing a towel and switching on the shower. I know it's bad to wash your hair two days in a row, but I'm making an exception; I desperately need something refreshing and awakening, especially after that past month.

I decide to not take more than a few minutes washing my wings, so I manage to get out of the shower with around twenty minutes left before I have to show at the meeting. I wrap my hair up and pat my wings dry, and then return to my bed, where I set my clothes down.

I picked out a black "Keep Calm and Carry On My Wayward Son" fitted T-shirt that had a small image of a Devil's trap above the text and a tiny Chevy Impala '67 below. It was decorated with spatters of red paint, along with everything needed for hunting the supernatural: a bag of salt, a rosary, a gun, a flask of holy water, and a silver bullet. My pants are dark skinny-jeans, a similar style to the pair I was wearing yesterday. For my shoes, I choose the same gray Vans. I grab my ILSB-issue watch, my aviators, my iTouch, and my earbuds, and I'm all set.

As I head down the hall, I pass several agents. I wave to the ones who have seen me before, and they return the friendly gesture. The ones who haven't seen me before shoot me confused glances, wondering as to why a teenaged girl would be in the Helicarrier, let alone the fact that she's wearing sunglasses inside.

I make it to the cafeteria in a few minutes (I lost my way once, but I asked an agent, Hill, I think, and she directed me to the correct path). My eyes widen when I see the buffet-style spread, displaying different kinds of pancakes, French toast, a variety of eggs, waffles, and more. I grab a pristine plate and create a breakfast that a foodie would probably dream of: a stack of two pancakes- one plane, one chocolate-chip; a small scoop of scrambled eggs; half of a waffle; four strips of bacon; and a glass of hot chocolate. I drench my waffles and pancakes in strawberry syrup, but force myself to refrain from creating a whipped cream mountain range that could be successfully compared to the Himalayas. I do, however, add a squirt into my mug of hot chocolate.

I find a small table that no one's sitting at. I snag a set of silverware and a napkin before I carefully set down my plate and plop into the chair. I place an earbud in my left ear and select shuffle. The first song that starts playing is Michael Bublé's version of "Feeling Good". One could probably say that I'm obsessed with this rendition. Well, that person should ALSO know that I have a pretty damn good reason: Michael's version is freakin' _amazing_!

You should look it up.

Now, let the face-stuffing commence! I slice off a piece of chocolate chip pancake and shove it into my mouth. Oh. My. _Gawd_. These are probably better than anything IHOP ever had! They have that old-fashioned homemade taste, rich and sweet with buttermilk and chocolate chips- I mean, these are the kinds of pancakes you'd find in Heaven. Of course, I do feel like I actually am in Heaven right now. I feel like all will be well until I hear:

"Hey, who's the ten-year-old?"

Well, someone is certainly _not_ feelin' good today.

My eyes snap open. I finish chewing and swallow the bite I had taken before pausing the song blaring through my earbud. I turn around, a little hesitantly. The first thing I notice is that everyone's gone quiet. The second, they're all staring at me. I have a guess as to who spoke: he's somewhat jock-ish, muscular with a military-style buzz cut. He was probably the school bully.

Behind him are two other similar-looking guys, whom I assume to be his lackeys. I hear one whisper loudly, "What's with the sunglasses?"

I sigh after sizing them up, and return to eating. _So_ not my issue. However, I decide to leave my earbuds out. I catch the sounds of agents shifting uncomfortably in their seats, unsure of where this could lead.

"Excuse me, I'm talking to you!" he loudly informs me (like I didn't already know!) as they stomp across the room to stand next to me, their muscular arms folded across their chests. I can't help but yawn.

"Look," I say, finally turn around, "I'm not looking for a fight here. You still have a chance to walk away with at least part of your dignity intact."

"Oooh, I feel _so_ threatened!" he retorts sarcastically. He and his fellow douche-canoes chuckle it out before he suddenly turns serious. "I just wanna know what makes you so special. I mean, there _has_ to be a _good_ reason why _you're_ here, right?"

I shoot up and step away from my table. "Well, if you keep provoking me, then you'll find out why!"

"Oh, look! She's so cute, trying to be all scary!" the goon to his left blurts out, causing the head honcho and the other creep to cackle.

As their laughter dies away, I remain standing there, my arms now folded, a serious don't-mess-with-me look hardening my face underneath my aviators. When they've stopped chuckling, they look at me with expressions saying that they won't take anything I say seriously. Well, what about something I _do_?

Never changing my facial expression, I invade the mind of the man-bitch who made that last comment and shut down the conscious part of his mind, putting him into a sleep-like state. He causes a loud whump when he drops to the floor in a spineless heap (this was actually the second trick I learned, the first being setting up mental barriers on me and others). All of this happens within two seconds.

"Lesson number two: you never, and I mean _never_, piss off a telepath."

* * *

**Whoo, still can't believe how _fast_ that was! Y'all better feel special! So my half-Hiatus is over, but I will warn you: band camp is starting soon, along with school, which means a whirlwind of papers, binders, and flags, so I will probably not be able to update a whole ton within the next month. I PROMISE I WILL WORK HARDER ON ACTB!**

**The link for Ari's shirt design is on my profile page. If you review, I'll make one and send it to you :-)**

**Yes, I am a HUGE Supernatural fan, and a Destiel shipper. Meg comes along and I'm all, STOP BLOWING HOLES IN MY SHIPPP!**


	8. Turn Their Heads and Give 'Em Hell

**Oh, and I own nothing, so...**

**Special Thanks: Wolvesnightmare and pink penguins (guest reviewer)**

**Shout-out: LostChurch- followed _and_ favourited me!**

**Title: "Fighter" by Gym Class Heroes ft. Ryan Tedder**

* * *

I continue to glare as I watch O'Neil whirl around at the sound of the fall of one of his cronies. His jaw dangles and his eyes bug, a hilarious look on his face- well, it would be on anyone's, I guess. In the background the agents gasp, and when I glance away from my opponent I see one sneak out of the cafeteria. I let him be, not worrying about his actions. If I'm lucky, he's gone to get Fury.

I look back to the bully and he whips around to face me, his face full of confusion, rage, and... fear? Still glaring, I let my lips curl into a smirk.

"What did you _do_ to him?" the agent demands.

"I merely shut down the conscious part of his brain," I explain. "He's merely in a sleep-like state. It's obviously nothing as bad as what I will do to you if you do not leave me be."

"You little _bitch_!"

"Um, yeah, about that..."

"You're gonna pay!"

My smirk grows. "Come at me, _brah_!" I duck as Hendrickson snarls and lunges forward, swinging his fist at me. He punches at me again but I grab his fist and twist it until it goes _crack_. I release my grip and he falters, crying out in pain. I snap a swift axe-kick to his shoulder, hitting a crucial pressure point, effectively knocking him out. O'Neil decides it's time for him to enter the fray, but as he charges closer, I nail him in the chest with a powerful side-kick. He goes flying half-way across the room, his back smashing into the next table over.

I leave my leg fully extended, showing off my flexibility, but retract it after a couple seconds, pulling back into a stable fighting stance. After looking around and seeing that no one else would dare bother me, I let any emotion slide off of my face, straighten my posture, and straighten my aviators.

"My work here is done. Oh," I turn to face the agents that had congregated in a corner during the showdown, "and thanks for the help, _dickwads_." I snap to attention as the sound of footsteps muffled by high-quality combat boots echoes down the hallway, warning me of an approaching Director Fury. He stops at the doorway and observes the scene before him, his face revealing none of his thoughts. I feel an irrational nervousness, when I know that I have done no wrong.

I hear more footsteps, more than one person- three, maybe? All are clearly in a rush. I blink as Steve, Bruce, and Natasha suddenly stop by the doorway, and then backtrack so they have a full view of the events unfolding before them. I observe this out of the corner of my eyes; my focus doesn't leave Fury.

"What exactly," Fury addresses me, "went on here?"

"Your little _pet agent_ didn't tell you?" I ask, feigning surprise.

"He did, but I want to here it from you," he reasons, remaining polite.

"Why don't you ask your oh-so-brave agents over here," I gesture, "what they saw as they were cowering in the corner like little bitches?" I smirk as I receive a muffled chuckle from Steve.

"You know," I face said agents, "y'all should be so _ashamed_ of yourselves. Everything you stand for just happened right in front of your fat, crooked noses, and you just stood there drooling! How can you call yourselves heroes when you can't even help a teenage girl who may or may not be defenseless against an old-school fucking _bully_?"

"She's gotta point, you know," Bruce pipes up from behind Fury, who turns to look at the scientist. He then shifts his gaze to the red-headed assassin and our resident super-soldier as the trio files into the room. Natasha and Steve move to stand to my left, opposite Thompson, while Bruce hangs back, closer to O'Neil and the doorway.

"Actually, she does, which is why I'm putting all of you," he turns to the agents, who are _now_ looking ashamed, "on desk duty for the next week. We'll see if you _buck up_ after that."

He swivels back to face me. "I would appreciate it if you would wake up Agent Thompson."

"Fine." I drop my gaze down at the man sprawled at our feet and, a few seconds later, his eyes fly open as he starts when he sees me and Fury glaring down at him.

"As of right now," Fury states, "I'm putting you and Agents O'Neil and Hendrickson on suspension. You will report to my office immediately to hand over your badges and guns for the next three weeks. We are a government organization, created to "

I smile smugly as he glares at me. I turn to wake up Hendrickson, and upon regaining consciousness, he moves his injured wrist. I bark out a laugh as he moans in pain, a sound synchronized with O'Neil's cry out.

Fury looks at me, and I say defensively, "What? He was gonna punch me!"

He sighs, but doesn't say anything.

"How did O'Neil get over _here_?" Natasha asks.

"I side-kicked him," I reply smoothly.

"From over there?"

"Yup." With that, I turn around, grab my plate, and take another bite of one of my pancakes. Too cold, I mentally gauge the condition of my food. Hmm... I drop my fork gently back onto my plate and place my right hand directly underneath, while my left hand still grips the side. I focus heat energy into my right palm, bringing its temperature up to around two hundred degrees Fahrenheit. I wait for a few seconds, surreptitiously glancing at Steve, Bruce, Natasha, and the other agents (who are currently meandering out the door) to make sure they don't see the faint glow being emitted from my right hand. I remove my hand and test my food again: perfect temperature.

As I shove a fifth of the remaining chocolate chip pancake in my mouth, I ask, "Who mabe beev pancaketh?"

"Steve did," Natasha replies with a smile.

I swallow. "Like, what, Culinary God much? Gawd, you need to open a breakfast diner- you'd make a fortune from these alone!"

Just then Tony walks by, but almost skids to a stop as he sees the scene before him, with Fury following the three bullies out. He freezes, taking his own time to register Fury, the agents, me, and the three Avengers that had arrived a few minutes earlier.

The billionaire raises his eyebrow while striding in. "So... what, exactly, happened here?"

"Ari," Bruce explains in a calm voice, "just beat up three of SHIELD's agents."

"Well," I grin a bit sheepishly (I don't really blush- because of my genetically tan skin, it wouldn't show up, thank Gawd), "it was only two of them. The first guy, I knocked out telepathically. A second side ability."

"Dude, how many powers do you have?"

"Like, four, not including the fact that," my speech begins to slow with nervousness, "I _may_ or _may not_ have... been given a small dose of the, uh... super-soldier serum..." I trail off slowly, peering at Steve to see how he will react.

"What?" he gasps, looking at me with a mixture of shock and disbelief. "There are still people trying to recreate it?"

"I don't think words can describe how bad of an idea that is," Bruce says glumly from behind me.

I shift to face him and Tony, the latter now moving to my right. "They aren't _trying_; they're _succeeding_. And I can assure you- the formula is in good hands. The ILSB isn't as dumbshitty as SHIELD is, what with the latter sticking their abnormally large noses into other people's business, but I can assure you that w- I agreed to it. The project, I mean." I pray that no one caught my save.

"You were about to say 'we', weren't you?" I totally call jinx on that!

"Um... no?"

"Ari, how many others were given the serum?"

I stand there, staring into Bruce's pleading eyes through the reflective lenses of my sunglasses. "Five others."

"Were they the same age as you?" Natasha asks.

"One to two years older. I was the only fifteen-year-old."

"Why would you agree to do this?" Bruce demands. "The few times it was tested, it was done so on fully grown adults. No one would've had any idea what would happen if it were to be used on a teenager!"

"I can assure you that there is a reasonable explanation for what happened regarding the serum, even if the end results of why the project was started in the first place didn't end up how everyone thought it would. But first, I need to give you some background information.

"The project was designed to create a team of six superhuman teenagers, in the hope that they would save the world, sort of like the Avengers Initiative. Our version was called Project Savior..."

* * *

**Aaaaand... Que flashback!**

**Whoo! Longest chapter yet! From here on out, the chapters will probably be getting gradually longer, so later, the chapters may average out just under 2,000 words instead of around 1,400. _You're welcome!_**

**Reviews, as always, are appreciated. Happy writing!**

**Ps. I wanna give a special shout-out to jumpingandfalling, who will be leaving or has already left FanFiction. She is helping me with the story, while hers are getting posted on Wattpad under WriteLoveSingPray. She is a great author- you won't be disappointed!**


	9. Pt 1- All Systems Go

**MAIL BAG:**

**Tierra (guest): Yup! It is, more or less, how I would react.**

**jumpingandfalling: OMG no prob and thank youuu! I love collaborating with other authors and I'm glad I will still be able to contact you!**

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**This chapter is part of a three-shot flashback along with the next chapter. For flashback-y purposes, all three will be longer than usual. You're welcome. As usual, I only own what Marvel Comics doesn't. Warning: hints at torture, mentions of rape (it was stopped, so yay!).**

**Special Thanks: Elliot Faraday and jazica**

**Title: "Radioactive" by the Imagine Dragons**

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ILSB Headquarters  
December 1, 2007  
1849 Hours

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_"The end might come but the hand_  
_who writes eternity can't see_  
_the end coming."_  
-Flares from a Dying Sun, by Paul R. Mott

The slapping of her thin, leather sandals against the stone floor resounds through the large corridor. She races past a few people, other council members, but she doesn't see them. In their place, she sees destruction and ash. Near worldwide anarchy, images of blood-filled streets fill her vision, an all-out brother versus brother war.

She wheels around a corner, nearly bumping into the man she is desperate to see. This is why she wastes no time in catching her breath before delivering the message.

Exactly eight minutes and thirty-seven seconds later, a Level Seven Priority Alert is sent out to six teenagers.

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GEMINI **(1)** Tech Wing, Room G32, ILSB HQ  
December 1, 2007  
1859 Hours

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_What _dumbass_ left the power router wires in the inhibitor collar dislodged?_ The slender platinum blonde groans to herself as she unscrews a panel in the side of the metal collar. Pulling back the thin sheet of metal, she reveals a twist of five thin wires: two red, two black, and one pale blue. Two out of the five wires are connected to a panel just past the opening. The blue wire is disconnected from its slot, as it should be; both of the red wires is also disconnected, but they _clearly shouldn't be_, had she not made that crystal clear enough for _simple comprehension_?

_I specifically told him_, she growls to herself, _that you _only_ leave the _synchronization wire_ disconnected!_ The sync wire, the pale blue color, is used to connect the power to the circuitry. This is the wire that allows the router wires, the red ones, in the collar to carry messages containing the information of what electrical signals to send down a person's spinal cord, and when to send said signals. This is how the collars work: they intercept the signals pertaining to one's X-gene-induced abilities and blocked them from being carried out.

The black wires are used to connect the LED lights, which indicate amount of power left, and the transmitter, which receives signals from the computer mainframe they are hooked up to and sends out a GPS location in case of an emergency.

But back to the main point here: the reason why the GEMINI agent is so pissed is that because her new intern (who happened to be _four years older than her_) had left the router wires disconnected, the blonde herself now has to fix _and_ recharge each and every one of the twenty collars that take twenty hours to return to full power each, and she needs them all by eight AM tomorrow. Even worse, some of the collars may have short circuited because of the power blockage, and they don't have very many spares.

Of course, had she been in charge of the internship interviews, the current intern wouldn't have been hired. She isn't the head of GEMINI's American division for nothing; which is why she now has the responsibility of dealing with the new shipment of inhibitor collars.

She barely glances up as she hears her friend Jennifer from the Antares Division **(2)** opens the door to the lab and steps into the room. "Not now, JJ," the platinum blonde's soft, soprano voice lilts through the space between the two teenagers. "I am extremely busy."

"It's a level seven," Jennifer replies. At this, the head of the GEMINI member snaps up, her unnatural-looking silver eyes wide. A strange feeling washes over her, draining any color that was previously in her face. She grows almost a bit dizzy, and she feels like her blood has been replaced with liquid nitrogen. She takes the cream-colored card from Jennifer, who promptly leaves right after. When she is alone, the GEMINI member glances down at the card. Sure enough, "L7PA" is stamped on that side. She shakily flips the card over and reads the message:

_Tiffany "Blink" Slater, GEMINI_  
_RE: Project Savior_  
_Please report to room L28 immediately._

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TEXAR **(3)** Facility, Room T22, ILSB HQ  
Meanwhile

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To say he is happy would be to understate the moment. The feeling rushing through his veins can be more comparable to euphoria, albeit without the loss of awareness of one's surroundings. Maybe bliss? Or cloud nine? He's not sure, but whatever he's feeling, he knows that he won't want to leave this place again.

This room in the TEXAR wing- it _is_ his heaven. If he died, this is certainly where _he_ would end up. Not that he actually _wants_ to die. That's why he chose more of a sideline job here at the ILSB instead of charging to the front lines. Well, sure he does want to fight, but nothing really appeals to him. Sure, he could work with the URL **(4)**, as a lot of his gadget designs revolve around stealth and such, but he wasn't the best strategist. He knows this is somewhat contradictory, but it's only true because he never had the time or interest to hone that particular skill set. Maybe he should- you never know...

Okay, okay, maybe that _was_ a bit of an exaggeration- he has been on missions with the URL, but only when they needed him to upgrade security or to adjust broken gadgets, and that wasn't that often. Anyways, although he does sometimes wish he could be in the field more, he's perfectly content sitting there and tinkering. He would make a pretty damn good field agent though...

Anyways, back to the task at hand. He's working on a specialized version of the inhibitor collars that allow for the adjustment of how constricted the special abilities of the collar's victims are. One of the main reasons why he's excited is that he gets to work with one of his close friends from the GEMINI division here, a tall blonde with super-speed. She is very pretty. Maybe he should ask her out someday...

Like she'd ever have the time to do something outside of GEMINI.

Sighing again, he shakes himself out of his daydream and resumes his work updating the collars. After only a few minutes, though, he decides to listen to some music. He pushes his floppy brown hair back and sticks his earbuds in (one of his own designs, of course) and presses shuffle. A song by Led Zeppelin comes on, and he grins as he continues unscrewing a panel in the silver collar currently in his hands. His music is so loud that he jumps when he feels a hand on his shoulder. From the way the hand was placed, though, he knows that there is no malice behind it.

He turns around and sees a professional-looking brunette with her hair tied back in a low ponytail, maybe a little over twenty years old. She remains silent, but hands him a cream-colored envelope.

"Uh... thank you, I guess?" the boy says as she leaves, giving no indication she heard him or not. He shrugs and turns back to the card. On the back is a code, "L7PA." His eyes widen as he reads the message.

_Matthew "Cyberpunk" Sharpe, TEXAR_  
_RE: Project Savior_  
_Please report to room L28 immediately._

* * *

URL Lounge, ILSB HQ  
Meanwhile

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She laughs so hard that she snorts. "You actually said that?"

The second girl chuckles with her colleague. "Yup, and I meant _every word_." She had just finished her ran about her previous boyfriend, with whom she had just broken up. His cheating on her had been caught by a third party, one of her friends. _She has a tomboyish name,_ she remembers, _it begins with an "A"._ The girl with the tomboyish name had just barely started developing telepathy, and had just so happened to be by her side when her boyfriend spewed another one of his lies to her. Most of what he had _always_ said to her was lies. Maybe she was just that desperate to find someone here that was willing to trust her, to ignore her past, that she blocked out any doubts about him.

She runs her slender fingers through her thick black jaw-length hair, to which she'd added blonde streaks that serve to frame her pixie-like face. Her face, which is usually adorned with a smile faker than Splenda. Her eyes which, due to an accident, are two different colors- hazel on her right, and a bright, almost unnatural forest green on her left. Her hands, which had been the cause of so much _pain_ and _agony_... And to think that she hadn't run away sooner. But, then again, she had been kept on an _extremely_ tight leash, what with her damn _father_ pulling the strings.

In all truth, the telepath with the tomboyish name is probably one of her only friends here. They aren't that close, but they talk enough to be friends. Actually, scratch that; they _weren't_ that close, until she saved the telepath's life. Using her psionic abilities, she'd called out for help and, along with one of the head URL agents to hear her pleas, she raced to her colleague's side and found the latter's boyfriend trying to force himself onto her. He'd been beaten to a pulp by the other responding agent while the poor girl had collapsed in her second savior's arms.

Ever since that incident, people have started trusting her more, but still remain wary. But also because of what happened, the telepath is now the closest thing she has to a _best _friend (because they are friends, is it bad she forgot her name?). So strange that they bonded over such a terrible day, and they both know that the other wishes they didn't have that dark, traumatizing similarity between them. But the girl is happy to know that she found someone who needed _her_, someone she herself also needed. She smiles at the thought. She never would've predicted that her life could lead to good rather than evil.

The girl she was talking to has wandered away, leaving her as the only person on that side of the lounge, over by the kitchenette. She turns to the coffee machine only to be stopped by a hand on her shoulder. She turns around and sees a man, maybe in his mid-twenties, wearing a dark suit.

"Nice sunglasses, double-oh-seven," she smirks. She frowns as he doesn't reply. Wordlessly, he hands her a cream-colored card addressed to her and leaves. "Um, thank you... I guess." She frowns once more; she doubts he heard that. Whatever, it's the thought that counts. On this side of the card, the code "L7PA" is stamped out. _Level Seven Priority Message_. She shudders at the sudden thought. Head tilted in curiosity, she flips over the card and reads:

_Alison "Terra" Cho, URL_  
_RE: Project Savior_  
_Please report to room L28 immediately._

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**EXPLANATIONS/GLOSSARY:**

**Antares Division: from a choir song called "The Poet Sings" composed by Z. Randall Stroope (his works are beautiful- one of my faves is Omnia Sol!). In it, there's a line "Antares is her messenger" which is where I got this from; their work is similar to the _Transporter_ movies.**

**GEMINI: General Emergency Medical Inter-National Initiative. My timeline connecting Tiffany's relationship with her work in GEMINI is mentioned in the next chapter.**

**TEXAR: Technological EXperimentation And Research. They're the Tony Starks of the ILSB, along with those who possess abilities revolving around tech and electricity, like Matt.**

**URL: Undercover and Retrieval League. They specialize in undercover ops, protection, and extraction.**

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**So, it turns out that, while writing this chapter, FanFic decided that it would be a VERY GOOD TIME for me to RELOG IN, deleting HALF OF THE CHAPTER. I managed to remember the general gist, but I'm still EXTREMELY PISSED. :-( I liked the first draft better!**

**Okay, rant done. Another heads up- later in the story (I'm not sure how many chapters after this one), I have plans to reintroduce Allie who, as you now know, cusses a lot, and there will also be flashbacks to torture scenes. I won't make them too gruesome, but they are torture nonetheless.**

**Unfortunately, there might not be any real action scenes coming up too soon, save for training sequences. Please bear with me- you won't be disappointed later!**

**ALSO! What are your guyz's thoughts on a love interest for Ari? Like I mentioned before, there are two other eligible guys she already knows from Project Savior (Matt and Josh- Lorenzo is gay), but anyone else from the Marvel Earth-616 Universe is fair play, EXCEPT for anyone over their mid-twenties.**

**ALMOST DONE! Don't forget to check out my other two stories if you haven't already! _The Beginning_ is the original story, while _A Peek_ is a companion story that I'll fill with alternate takes on how certain scenes could have been written, or one- or two-shots that take place in the crazy life of Andromeda Sims.**

**OKAY THIS IS THE LAST ONE! How do you feel about Loki, the Fantastic Four, and/or the X-Men? Please comment! I do love feedback and suggestions! ****I will accept flames but remember- you will face merciless taunting from me!**

**STUPID WEBSITE! AAARRRGGG!**


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